


Sam Cannot

by AgentFreeWill



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Memory Loss, POV Sam Wilson, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, finishupfeb, implied Steve/Bucky, self-sacrificing idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 19:30:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17731259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentFreeWill/pseuds/AgentFreeWill
Summary: Sam has a front-row seat to his friends being martyrs. Again.Okay, maybe he chose the front-row seat? But someone has to look after them.





	1. New? Bucky

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Through a dark night, without a sunrise, love will tell us where to go](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7700146) by [LunaCanisLupus_22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaCanisLupus_22/pseuds/LunaCanisLupus_22). 



> This story is a POV shift for Chapter 1 of LunaCanisLupus_22's work noted above. I strongly recommend you read her story first, both because it is excellent and also because it provide the full context for this one.
> 
> Most of the Bucky & Sam dialogue is straight from the source story. Most of Sam's conversations with Natasha and Steve are mine.
> 
> I just really really wanted to know what was going on in Sam's head, so I thought I'd write it. Enjoy!

**SAM CANNOT WITH STEVE**  


Sam pauses by the his door, wondering if he’s going to be dealing with a mopey Captain America again today. “Eight ball says: chances are good, ” he mutters, and swings the door open.

A sad lump on his couch looks up and tries to smile. “Hey Sam.”

Sam sighs internally and sits down next to Steve. “Hey buddy, how you doin’?”

Steve picks at the blanket he has wrapped around himself. “Oh, you know. Just watching some TV.” He looks up at Sam earnestly. “I hope it’s okay I’m here again, I don’t want to impose…”

“Naw, you’re good.” Sam claps him on the shoulder and heads to the kitchen. “Anything you need, man, you know I’m here for you.”

Later that night, after Steve has left, Sam calls Natasha. “You should see him Nat, he’s just a sad, sad wreck. I’ll happily hang out with Steve, you know that, but damn the guy is dragging me down with his sad-ass puppy face all the time!”

Natasha _hmms_ at him and he can almost see her tapping her nails. “If only I — dunno — WORKED with the guy I’d know what you were talking about...”

Sam huffs a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, you have ‘dealing with Steve’ points too. I just want to help him, y’know? He’s trying to pretend he’s ok but he’s clearly not.” Sam flops back on his bed and sighs dramatically. “I know they chose this but it really really seems like they didn’t think it through all the way.”

“Maybe you could check up on Bucky for him?” Natasha’s voice is oddly diffident.

“Hey, there’s a thought.” Sam sits up. “If I could tell Steve that Bucky is fine, that he’s happy and living his life— maybe Steve could start to move on? Actually, that’s brilliant. Except—,” Sam pauses. “Wait,” he says suspiciously, “do you know where Bucky is?”

Natasha _hmms_ again, but this time it sounds smug.

“You sneaky devil,” Sam says, grinning. He flops back on the bed again. “So, tell me.”

  
________________________________________________

**SAM CANNOT BELIEVE BUCKY’S NEW JOB**  


When Sam learns that Bucky — _no Jay, remember it’s Jay_ — is teaching languages down at Fluent City, he thinks that’s perfect. Natasha frequently throws Russian words at him and it’s maddening not knowing what she’s saying, especially when she give him that little smirk — so learning Russian? Perfect. And he can even swing the time slot, just barely. 9 AM will give him time to get over to the VA before lunch.

On the first day of class, Sam eyes the building pensively before heading in. _Remember, you don’t know him,_ he tells himself. _You’ve never met, you’re strangers. He’s just a guy, teaching you Russian._

He strolls in and heads for the back row while scanning the room. Adult learners, check; preppy bastard, check; Jay-Bucky, check. The back row puts a wall at his back and lets him see all the windows and doors. He takes off his sunglasses and motorcycle jacket and settles in. Everyone is introducing themselves and explaining why they are here. 

“And why are you taking this class?” Jay-Bucky is looking at him assessingly, ever so slightly braced as if he’s expecting a fight. He looks good, though, comfortable.

Sam shrugs carelessly, trying to come off harmless. “My friend likes to make fun of me in Russian,” he explains. “Think it’s time I levelled the playing field.” That gets him a gratifying ripple of laughter from the class and he blinks up at Bucky innocently. Jay-Bucky narrows his eyes slightly, but nods and moves on without comment. 

_Bucky is a good teacher,_ he thinks later, as he’s dutifully copying down crazy-ass letters and words. He’s trying to keep his face from showing what he’s thinking, which is a jumbled mix of glee that he might be able to finally understand Natasha, a genuine interest in the language, grudging respect for the Jay-Bucky teacher who bears almost no resemblance to the maelstorm that was the Winter Soldier, and grief for Steve that he can’t see Bucky here. Afraid he might say something out of place, he slips out of the room quickly as soon as class is over. 

Sam watches Jay-Bucky carefully the second week. Surveillance is definitely easier when you’re supposed to be watching the target because they are _at the front of the room, teaching._ He can tell Jay-Bucky is always alert to his surroundings, but there isn’t the menace that the Winter Soldier carried. And he makes these little jokes, and he’s patient with the students who struggle to pronounce words correctly. Sam’s still not ready to talk to Jay-Bucky, but as he walks out he thinks, _maybe._

Steve though, he’s _definitely_ not ready to talk to Steve yet. Steve is still very obviously grieving the loss of his friend, but trying hard to pretend he’s not. Any mention of Winter Solider or worse, Bucky, still makes him flinch, and Sam is not ready to deliberately scrape that wound yet. Not till he has more information, better information.

  
________________________________________________

**SAM CANNOT BELIEVE HE’S MAKING FRIENDS**  


By the third week, he makes up his mind. It’s time to try interacting with Jay-Bucky one-on-one. He packs up his stuff slowly at the end of class, and watches the rest of the students make their way out. Once everyone else has gone, he slowly makes his way towards Jay-Bucky who is… ignoring him? And putting away his books and lesson plans.

“Mr Reiser?” Sam asks, cautiously, wondering if this was a mistake.

“Call me Jay.” Bucky doesn’t stop packing up his bag or turn around. Sam’s head swims for a moment at the sheer _weirdness_ of it all.

“Jay,” Sam repeats, and powers forward with his plan. “I was just wondering— you seem like a cool guy so I figured I’d ask if you’d wanna go for a beer some time?”

Jay-Bucky finally turns around, and eyes Sam consideringly. Sam feels like he’s being judged, a little, and can’t stop the pang of disappointment when Jay-Bucky says “Fraternising with students is kinda discouraged.” 

Sam barely has time to register that he’s disappointed (and be shocked by it; when did he start to care if Jay-Bucky liked him?) before Jay-Bucky continues “But if you’re buying—.“

Sam feels a wash of relief, and grins at Jay-Bucky, the trajectory of future shenanigans flaring into existence. “I am.”

“Then I guess I’ll take you up on that offer. Sam, was it?”

“Sam,” he confirms, holding his hand out. “Sam Wilson.”

“Jay Reiser,” Sam feels the strength behind his handshake, and finds himself standing straighter. “But you already knew that.”

Sam’s brain trips over that a little bit — _if only you knew, buddy, if only you knew_ — but all he says was “I guess I did.”

As they walk to the bar, Sam can’t help but tense up at the sense of _wrongness_ of walking next to Bucky all casual. He keeps rolling his shoulders trying to loosen up, but the instinct of being on guard won’t let go. _Just a beer, just a beer,_ he thinks, while reflexively scanning the street for aliens that never come. Sam can feel Jay-Bucky’s assessing attention on him as well, which probably isn’t helping Sam’s danger radar.

Bar Nine looks decent enough when they get there; brick walls, dark wood and warm lights. Stepping inside and finding a booth relaxes Sam marginally — he takes off his jacket and slides in.

A bored waiter comes by with a bowl of pretzels and takes their order, which makes Sam realize they hadn’t been talking at all on the walk. He squints at Jay-Bucky across the table while fishing at the pretzels. _Was this really a good idea? Will Bucky recognize me? What the fuck am I doing?_

A few attempts at getting the conversation going fall flat, but luckily the beer shows up fast so there’s something to focus on other than crunching pretzels. 

Jay-Bucky tries again. “So does your friend really give you shit in Russian?”

“Oh, absolutely she does. That’s the one thing I do know.” Sam can feel the laughter trying to escape, and stoically tries to stay composed. He cups his hands around his beer, focusing on the cool glass.

Jay-Bucky eyes him, and when no further explanation appears, lobs another softball. “Where do you work?”

“Down at the VA.” Sam knows he should add more to this answer, but he has no idea what is safe to say; what might be triggering. _Keep it short and sweet, man, short and sweet._

“You like it there?”

Sam shrugs, still struggling with what to say. “I used to work at the one in DC. This one’s not much different. I do good there.”

“And you don’t do good anywhere else?” Jay-Bucky questions, with a hint of amusement flashing across his face.

Sam can’t help the rise of panic that sweeps over him. He immediately pictures _fighting things_ with the Avengers that _Bucky used to be a part of_ and he feels like Jay-Bucky can see all his secrets and he clenches his jaw _you’re fine, it’s all good_ before answering “I do what I can.”

Jay-Bucky looks like he caught more of Sam’s internal conflict than Sam would like, and Sam takes a swig of beer to distract. But that turned out to be the wrong choice because Jay-Bucky comes out with “Fair enough. Don't worry, I’ll be sure to teach every filthy Russian saying I can think of” and suddenly Sam is sputtering and laughing and there is beer in the pretzel bowl. 

_This just might work out. Who would have thought, friends with a twice-brainwashed assassin._

  
________________________________________________

**SAM CANNOT WITH SUPERSERUM APPETITES**  


They start interacting more, and Sam is delighted to discover that Jay-Bucky (JB, it’s easier) is quite decent and also a little _shit_ with a wicked sense of humor. (That time he accidentally-on-purpose knocked over the class asshole was _gold_ ). So they have some more beers, exchange phone numbers, and Sam is actually really enjoying the class and enjoying getting to know this new, less murderous version of Bucky.

Which Sad Lump of Emotions Steve still doesn’t know about. Sam is still doing his best to be a supportive friend while Steve occupies his couch and eats his weight in food. Super-soldier metabolism is the worst. 

Nat keeps laughing at him when he gives her debriefs. “Why haven’t you told Steve yet?” she asks after he shares his latest sad-Steve story.

Sam feels a flush overtake his face as he stalls. “Well…”

“You don’t want to share, do you.” The smirk is obvious in her voice.

Sam coughs a little, because, shit, it’s the truth. “You know once Steve finds out he’ll just be this big eager puppy of hope and want all of Bucky’s time, and how am I supposed to tell him no?” 

“Piss on Bucky and glare at Steve, I’m sure he’ll get the idea.”

“Whyyy Nat,” Sam groans. “Thanks for the mental image I _did not want, what the hell._ ” 

Point fucking taken.

 

Sam and JB are walking through Hell’s Kitchen after lessons, heading towards City Sandwiches for lunch. Sam was determinedly squashing his guilty feelings about spending more time with Steve’s best friend without Steve’s knowledge, but _Bucky is kinda awesome._

City Sandwiches is nothing special, but they make great subs. Sam had suggesting this place because, well, big sandwiches? And super-soldier metabolism? But after carefully considering the menu with a slight frown and pinched expression, JB tells the waitress he wants a Portuguese sub.

Sam is startled, and can’t help the “What?” that bursts out of him. “You’re only getting that? Aren’t you hungry?” He’s sat across from Steve in this very place with Steve always munching through 4 or 5 subs easily. And JB is only getting _one_? He forgets for a moment he’s not supposed to _know_ , but bites back further commentary when JB glances at him with a guarded look. He settles for smiling encouragingly and projecting an air of _no big deal_ as JB changes his order to two subs instead. Just two. Man, these super-soldiers are hard work.

They chat about the class, about Russian, and practice some dirty words while JB’s two subs disappear in record time and Sam is still struggling to make headway with his. Sam eyes JB’s empty plates and considers the half of a sub still remaining on his plate. He’s really not that hungry, these things are massive. He pushes his plate towards JB encouragingly and feels satisfied when JB starts eating it. 

Sam leans back, burps loudly while smiling at the ceiling, and then pats his stomach and grins at him. JB stares at him with wide eyes then laughs, a small spray of crumbs startled from his mouth. He seems to relax ever so slightly as they finish up and pay the smirky teenager with floppy hair at the register, and walk out into the sunshine. _We’ll have to do this again_ , Sam thinks, as he squints at the bright outdoors.

  
________________________________________________

**SAM CANNOT WITH THE RUNNING**  


Sam blinks at his phone.

Yep, the message from JB still says **_Wanna go for a run?_**

“Too damn early for this shit,” he mutters. “Super-soldiers and their goddamned _running_.”

He sighs. “Why me?” he asks the ceiling, which doesn’t reply. “Why do super-soldiers want me to ruin my lungs for their amusement?”

“Aaauugaaahhaaa,” he says, as he stumbles into the kitchen, looking for coffee. 

Resentfully, he types out **_I know I’m gonna regret this, but alright. Where and when?_**

After **_Central Park, north side_** and **_20 minutes_** shows up, Sam puts on his running clothes. He pats his shoes after tying the laces. “It’s you and me, buddies, we gotta go get lapped again.”

He finds JB frowning at the plants by the entrance, but JB sees him and brightens up. “Ready?”

Sam holds out a fist for JB to bump, and they’re off, winding their way through the paths of Central Park.

Sam is pleasantly surprised when JB stays more or less next to him. _Steve, your boy is waaay more polite than you are._ He imagines Steve flushed and protesting. _What are you talking about Sam, I am the PICTURE of politeness. There are POSTERS of me._ His amusement keeps him going for a while but— 

While JB is staying with him, he’s definitely not slowing down. At all. After about 40 minutes Sam veers off the path into a tree and collapses, breathing hard. He is done.

JB is hovering, looking at him worriedly. Sam gasps some more, and chokes out, “Man, this is some major dejà vu right now.” 

JB tilts his head. “What do you mean?”

Sam can’t help it, he laughs. Maybe a little hysterically. _Ow_. “Let’s just say you’re not the first person who’s destroyed my lungs before. Look at you, you’re not even tired, are you? Are you sweating? You better be sweating, Jay.”

Sam watches JB arrange his face into an earnest trust-me expression and say, “I am,” in what is definitely mean to be a reassuring tone, and almost laughs out loud.

“You asshole.”

JB looks a little discomfited, but helps Sam up and they make their way to coffee at a much more reasonable pace.

Holding his cup like it is the only thing keeping him upright, Sam eyes JB as they exit the coffee shop. JB has been subdued on the walk over. Sam allows himself a moment of self-pity, then before they split off, he offers, “Want to do this again?”

Yeah, he’s definitely not imagining the relief on JB’s face. _Okay, Sam, make friends with superheros, get your ass kicked running. Just the way it is._

  
________________________________________________

**SAM CANNOT WITH THE DILDOES**  


“Natasha!” Sam yells into the phone, “He told me he had a _sex dream_ about Captain America! He joked about star-spangled dildos! He admitted to being bisexual like no big deal! Stop laughing at me!” He stops and groans, while Nat is still cackling.

These boys, fuck. Goddamn _martyrs_ , the both of them. Can’t admit to being in love with your best friend, oh no, have to sacrifice everything that matters, what the _fuck_.”

“Does this change anything you’re doing?” 

Sam groans and pounds his head against the wall. “It can’t, can it. I mean, they don’t even know and it’s their own damn fault. Why am I friends with y’all anyway.”

“Well, Sam, maybe you just have a type”. Sam flushes. _Yeah, terrifyingly competent fighters. Ugh._

“How am I even going to be able to look Steve in the face?”

Nat considers. “I’m sure you’ll get through it.” 

Sam frowns when Nat doesn’t say anything else. “Nat, what are you thinking?”

“Nothing important.” Her dismissive tone does nothing to quiet the prickles of alarm he feels. 

“Natasha.”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Sam,” she says after a moment. “But do let me know if there are any further developments?” She clicks off without waiting for a response, and Sam stares at his phone. She is definitely planning something. _Pretty little head?_


	2. New? Steve and Bucky

  
**SAM CANNOT HIDE THEM FOREVER (BUT HE TRIES)**  


Sam opens the door and it’s Steve (of course it’s Steve) clutching grocery bags and smiling hopefully. “Hey Sam! I know it’s Friday night but…” He holds out the grocery bags and widens his eyes and smile, “...dinner?” He shakes the grocery bags a little and Sam can’t help but be impressed at the effectiveness of super-soldier silent pleading with baby blues, damn.

“All right, come on in, you big lug. And bring your _totally unnecessary_ bribe with you.” He ushers Steve through the door and towards the kitchen. “So what are we eating tonight?”

“Oh, I thought maybe pasta? With chicken and vegetables?” Steve pulls out bunch after bunch of colorful plants and lines them up for the chopping board while Sam locates the needed pans and knives. 

“Sounds good, but you gotta let me take care of the chicken, I don’t trust your depression-era white ass.” Sam turns just in time to see the echo of a something vanishing from Steve’s face which is suddenly very innocent and feels a mix of _hell yeah I got him to smile!_ And _wait—am I being played?_

“Cool, I’m just going to wash my hands and—” Steve waves in the direction of the bathroom and starts heading that direction without finishing his sentence. Sam rolls his eyes but then focuses on the spice rack. He’s just reaching towards the cayenne when he’s startled by a knock at the door.

He cracks the door open and sees “Jay!” _ohno ohno ohno_  
He glances back inside and Steve is still in the bathroom but…

__

“You’re busy,” JB says, looking disappointed. “I should’ve called first. I just wanted to know— your Russian friend— is her name Natasha?”

Sam has barely processed this question when he hears the toilet flushing and his brain whites out. _Holy fuck this is a disaster gotta get him away move move move—_

As Steve’s footsteps come closer Sam panics and yells, “Running to the store for a sec,” while frantically grabbing _keys, coat, move_ and pushing at JB.

Steve’s voice floats towards them, bewildered. “Sam? What?”

JB is not moving and Sam pushes him harder. “Shit. Shit. Go go go!” JB finally unsticks and they are sprinting for the elevator and Sam is stabbing the button and hustling them in and the elevator door slides shut just as Steve makes it to the front door and Sam stares at the elevator doors, out of breath. _Fuck._

“Who was that?” JB’s question hangs in the air like a sparkler and Sam cannot look at him. 

“The friend I told you about,” he says to the doors. 

“Your single bisexual friend.”

 _Of course he remembers._ “My single bisexual friend who’s still recovering from a lifelong relationship.” Sam tries to put some “back off, buddy” warning in his tone but he’s not sure how effective it is because two minutes ago he was seasoning chicken and his brain has not quite caught up to this new reality.

“He smelt familiar.”

Sam rubs his forehead. “He smelt familiar? Are you fucking—” Sam stops. Thinks, _super-soldiers._ Thinks, _what am I doing._ Has a mini panic attack, very mini, just a second or two. Restarts. 

“Of course you could smell him from the fucking doorway. This is just— fuck. This can’t be real. Are you sure it was just familiar? Are you sure that you don’t know him?”

“No. I don’t know him.” JB frowns, and looks faintly aggrieved. 

Sam sighs. “Fine, whatever. Not like it matters. Of course not.” He wants to kick the elevator walls. He does not, because he is a good tenant. He tells himself the story of why he is here. They are going to the store, because JB showed up unexpectedly, and JB showed up unexpectedly because of Natasha somehow. He pauses that train of thought as his hands slap against empty pockets. “Shit. I left my wallet.”

“Let’s go ba—,”

“Nope,” Sam insists cheerfully. _Nope nope nope. Not gonna happen._ “Looks like you’re buying us beer.”

“Us? I’m not buying you both beer.”

“Fine.” The elevator has stopped, and Sam herds JB out. “You’re going to buy beer for me since I will actually be able to get drunk from it and then you’re going to tell me how you know about Natasha.” 

JB is reluctantly allowing himself to be herded. “You know you do a lot of weird shit, right? And what exactly am I getting out of this arrangement?”

“You’re the one who came to see me, man. You get the delight of my company.”

“I regret ever talking to you.”

“Aww, I hate you too man.” Sam nudges JB playfully and relaxes as they enter the safety of the convenience store and bicker in front of the beer selection. By the time they are heading for the check out with a six-pack of _sweet sweet beer_ his pulse is almost back to normal.

Back to normal, that is, until the next words out of JB’s mouth. “So when you said you had a friend you wanted to get the upper hand over, you neglected to mention that friend was Black Widow.”

Sam stumbles and barely keeps a hold on the beer. “Jesus, fuck. Say it any louder, Jay. I don’t think all of New York heard you.”

“Dick,” JB says reflexively, but sneaks a glance around the store.

Sam can’t help it, he turns around and checks all directions, relieved to see pretty much no one. “Yes, Natasha is the person constantly making fun of me in Russian,” Sam hisses, almost directly in JB’s ear.

“The one you’re into. The super spy.” JB looks unimpressed.

“Shut the hell up.” They are getting closer to the cashier, and Sam darts another look around. “What I want to know is how you figured that out.” 

“Wasn’t that difficult. Since she showed up at the Institute. Is she stalking you or stalking me?”

Sam almost drops the beer. What the fuck is Natasha doing? _Ok, so now two of them have seen Bucky, so…oops._ “Shit. Cap needs to know about this. We promised to back off—.”

“Back off of what?” JB’s voice pulls Sam back to the disaster at hand.

“Never mind. Superhero stuff,” he says dismissively and then feels guilty when JB hands over money for the beer.

“Right,” JB agrees. “How did you become friends with superheroes anyway? Happy accident?”

Sam has a flashback of a red-white-and-blue blur saying, “on your left,” and tenses at the reminder of Steve, probably sadly chopping vegetables in his apartment. “Something like that.” He tries to deflect away from the subject. “Look, just don’t worry about Nat right now. She’s mostly harmless.”

“Yeah?” JB says with a faraway look in his eye. “Somehow I doubt that.”

Too right. Sam sighs and then starts plotting to ditch JB and get back to seasoning a chicken. 

Later, after Steve has been convinced to go home, belly full, Sam dives for the phone. 

“Natasha, _what the hell??”_

“What, you can check up on him but I can’t?” Sam appreciates that she doesn’t even try to front.

“Nat, he _knows who you are._ ” Sam is almost hissing into the phone. “ _And that I know you._ Why would you do that?”

“Relax. Everything is under control.”

“Oh, so you know he knows. Right. Cool. So I’ll just go back to my language classes and what? Spill my guts about what it’s like to be friends with the Avengers? No big deal?”

“So, what I’m hearing is you need a venting buddy.” Natasha is unmoved. “Hey, I’ve just laid the groundwork.”

Sam is not blushing. “What were you doing at the Institute?”

“Self-defense classes.”

Sam chokes. “What?! I’m sorry, could you repeat that? I don’t think I heard the Black Widow say she took some self-defense classes at a community center.”

“A couple of the instructors needed some, ah, encouragement on adjusting their style.”

Sam starts laughing for real. “You kicked their asses, didn’t you.”

“Yep.” Yeah, she’s definitely smug.

“Oh god, I so wish I’d been there.” After a moment Sam sobers. “But Natasha, really, what are you doing?”

Natasha is quiet, which is always potentially dangerous. Finally she says, “Who else is going to look after them but us?”

  
________________________________________________

**SAM CANNOT WITH FAME AND NOTORIETY**  


Sam gets _pushed_ from the side and suddenly he’s stumbling, the ground closer than it should be as he slows from the ‘running-with-super-soldiers’ pace, and somehow manages to keep himself upright. He squints after the pink hair bobbing away and mumbles _fuck crowds fuck running fuck._

He speeds back up again and looks over at JB to complain but—no JB. 

_Where the fuck did he go?_ He scans the park and finally spots his dark hair in the middle of a very energetic crowd. He pushes through and yells “Jay!” before throwing an arm around a very distracted looking JB’s shoulders.

“Wow, thanks for the help back there, man. You owe me a beer at least for that. Now we going to Rudy’s Bar & Grill or what?” He’s a little out of breath, and tugs ineffectively at JB.

“Sam?” someone says, confused. “Rudy’s? That old speakeasy is still open?”

Sam registers Steve in front of him for a moment before static overloads his brain. “Shit, Steve, I can explain.” Now he’s babbling. “This isn’t what it looks like or what you’re thinking. I promise I was just trying to help.” _Believe me, please believe me_

JB pulls away. “What’s with you?” he wonders. “You two know each other? What are you beating your gums about?”

Sam is unable to process this question in his high-adrenaline state. His eyes dart between them, and his feet twitch like they want to move but don’t have a direction yet. “What?”

“He’s asking what you’re talking about,” Steve fills in, in a measured, Steve-like way, which seems to set JB off.

“Look, pal. I know you’re a hero and all and trying to help, but I don’t need you to talk for me.”

Steve groans, silently pleads with the heavens, and then circles back to fix Sam with a “Steve Rogers is about to be disappointed in you” face. “How did you two meet.”

Before Sam can even figure out how to explain, JB is scowling at Steve and accusing “So you do know me.” And then _fuck_ someone from the crowd is asking if he’s the _Falcon._ Natasha is going to kill him. Laugh, and then kill him.

Sam is shaking his head in denial of _everything_ when Steve answers JB, “No, you’re mistaken.”

Steve finishes the thing he was signing, and then swings back to pin Sam with a look. “You’ll be hearing from me.” Shit, that was definitely his “Steve Rogers is disappointed in you” face. _Shit, shit, shit._

JB doesn’t wait for the crowd to fully disperse in the wake of Steve’s departure before turning on Sam, his voice rising in volume to a near yell. “You didn’t tell me your other running partner was freaking Captain America. You let me wax on about the shape of his ass and my sex dream the other day and didn’t think that was worth mentioning?” 

Figures that JB would also have an “I am disappointed in you” face, although his is more like “I am disappointed in you and you better start running”. Sam snorts. And how would he have brought that up? “It’s not like you would have believed me.”

JB is watching him carefully, blue eyes sharp. Sam winces at the speculation that grows and turns into outrage. “Wait.” Sam wilts. “Are you the Falcon?” 

This day will _not_ fucking end. “Yes, okay. I’m the Falcon but it’s on the down low right now so keep your mouth shut. Now are we going to this bar or what, man?” Sam dangles the prospect of food in hopes (foolish, foolish hopes) it will be a distraction.

JB looks disgruntled, then takes deep breath and settles.

“Alright, chicken wing but you’re gonna buy first round and then you better tell me all about your flapping adventures.”

“Wow, two bird jokes. You schooled me real good there, Reiser.” Sam is relieved, fucking relieved that they are back to snarking but hell if he will let JB know that.

“Мудак.”

“Hey, no fair. You said you aren’t allowed to teach us Russian swear words.”

“Not at Fluent City, but buy a fella a drink and maybe I will.” JB is smirking again and scanning the path like he’s plotting the fastest way to the bar. Which, he probably is.

Sam grin is positively obscene. “I’ll hold you to that.”

  
________________________________________________

**SAM JUST CANNOT**  


Natasha does indeed laugh her ass off.

“Yeah, yeah, mock my pain.” Sam grumbles.

“So how is JB taking the fact that he has now met three Avengers in person?” She sounds casual, but Sam feels like someone just started waving warning flags. ‘Cause it’s not “The Avengers,” is it. It’s Steve. 

“He—seemed ok? We got drunk and talked about the language of the Motherland. He didn’t bring it up again. I dunno, maybe the whole Steve thing will just—blow over? It’s not like he remembers, you know. _Steve._ ”

“Hmmm.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to escape the bird jokes, like I need that.” Sam glares at the wall and the wall is impervious to his predicament.

“Let me know if there are any further developments.” It’s not really a request, and the “if” feels more like a “when.” But Sam would tell her anyway.

“Sure, sure. Fingers crossed we’re done talking about Captain America and can just stick to Falcon jokes.” Sam hesitates. “I just, I wanted them both to be happier, you know? I really hope this doesn’t mess things up.”

Sam is feeling pretty guilty and Natasha must realize how much because her quiet “me too” is not at all judgemental.

 

At class on Wednesday, Sam watches JB for signs of distress and doesn’t find them. He gradually relaxes and tells himself no harm done. He is prepared to disappear when class is done, but JB raises an eyebrow and tilts his head towards the front.

After everyone else clears out, JB starts towards him, intently. “The other night, about Captain—”

Sam gives him a no-big-deal wave and cuts him off. “Nah man. It’s all good, just forget about it.” He’s giving it his best “I don’t need to talk about it if you don’t” impression, but falters at JB’s stormy look.

“Who the hell would want to forget Captain America?” practically explodes out of JB, and the intense emotion behind the words throws Sam for a loop. He involuntarily steps backwards, away from the blast zone, mind spinning. _But I thought he — didn’t Steve say — what if — what the HELL Steve!_

Sam can feel his own anger at Steve — _no Steve you did NOT do what I think you did_ — growing, which makes JB also step back and peer at him hesitantly.  
“I’m missing something, aren’t I?” JB asks, but it’s not really a question and hoo boy that tips Sam over the edge.

“Shit. No, this is—,” he stops, mind racing. “I just remembered I gotta be somewhere, sorry man.” Maybe his fists are clenched, maybe his feelings leak into his voice. Maybe he needs to _go kill Steve._

But JB must realise that he is not the target of Sam’s ire because he lets Sam go with an “Alright—fly high, bird man and I’ll see you Saturday.”

“I hate you,” Sam says automatically, and jogs out of the classroom door with a hurried gesture of farewell.

_Steve buddy, you’ve got some explaining to do._

  
________________________________________________

**SAM THINKS THINGS MIGHT TURN OUT OKAY AFTER ALL**  


See, here’s the thing: JB, _Bucky_ , is now Sam’s friend. He _likes_ the guy. So yeah, he’s pissed at Steve, and maybe he chewed him out good over deciding for Bucky what was best for Bucky _without his input._

Steve made his bed super fucking uncomfortable and it’s his own damn fault he’s got to lie in it now. Sure Sam cares about Steve, but he also cares about Bucky, and wants him to have a good life. Even if it’s not what he would have chosen. 

And damn it, he wants to be his friend. He’s not thinking about how that will work long-term, but he’s not willing to give up hanging out with JB right now. Especially since JB feels comfortable enough to just show up at his door and chill in front of the tv and help himself to the contents of Sam’s fridge.

Like right now. “Wanna squeeze in a morning run before your classes on Thursday? We could grab lunch after. That oxtail soup from Pam Real Thai always hits the spot.”

JB pauses in his quest to get them beers for the movie and looks back at Sam, considering. And then he _blushes_? “I can’t, I’m meeting Steve Rogers for coffee.”

Sam is suddenly upright, startled and frowning. “What? Cap? Steve Rogers as in — Captain America — he asked you for—” _Steve! What the fuck!_

JB gets defensive and squares up. “No. I ran into him again. So I asked.” His expression says he’s ready to fight. 

Sam studies the carpet, plotting a course through today’s minefield. “Are you sure that you want to do that? You know what I said about— he’s carrying around a lot of emotional baggage from his past relationship. It’s too soon for—.”

“It’s not like that,” JB interrupts him. “It’s just coffee. It’s not a date.”

Sam pauses and stares at JB. Carefully, very carefully, he manages to say, “Do you want it to be a date?”

JB’s “no,” sounds sincere, but Sam was not born yesterday and he has _seen_ these two.

“—okaaaaaay,” he says, and tries to marshall his thoughts. “Look, I’m not trying to stop you or anything I just… I hope it works out, that’s all.”

JB apparently is appeased by that, because he brings Sam a beer and flops down on the couch again. They start the movie, still friends.

Sam can’t really focus on Jack Sparrow, though, because his friends are going on a _date_. His stupid-ass, self-sacrificing, miserable friends are — doing something they want to? 

Sam feels a faint fluttering in his chest and calls it hope, builds it a nest, and lets it stay.

**Author's Note:**

> as always thanks to aerialiste and kitt3nz for excellent beta advice (remaining issues are all mine!) and thanks to lunacanislupis_22 for being exited about having me play in her world.
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr link for story promo](http://agentfreewill.tumblr.com/post/182721445502/new-thing)


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